


Prompts

by sinistrocular



Category: VIXX
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinistrocular/pseuds/sinistrocular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are a collection of different prompts I've done. All wontaek. Some happy, some sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dec 22 - 2064 Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Write for at least 1000 words about a misstep, a risk, and a flirtation." Set in the same universe as Corpus Delicti.

Some days, Wonsik couldn’t always seem to keep an eye on Taekwoon. Unlike him, Taekwoon didn’t sport an incandescent orange mohawk to make him easy to spot in the thickest of crowds. Not that Wonsik thirsted for attention, but his partner seemed to shrivel up at the faintest mention of his work. More than one mission’s success could be directly attributed to his partner’s honed instincts, including today’s. Tonight was supposed to be a chance to celebrate, but Taekwoon had taken his leave of casual conversation earlier than usual. The other agents regarded the tall, thin martial arts expert with curiosity but little more than that and Wonsik couldn’t chalk up a reason to go after him, other than his entirely unrequited attraction. And so, Taekwoon disappeared into the throng of bodies without a look back.

“Never understood why he got paired with you,” a voice chimed in close to his ear. Agent Key.

“Huh?” Wonsik asked, spinning around in his chair from where he’d been focused on searching for any sign of his partner. “Leo? He’s the best at what he does.”

Kim Kibum, Agent Key, had taken the seat beside him, long white-blonde hair pushed to one side and drink crooked in his lithe fingers. He shrugged his shoulders in response and took a long sip of the fluid that glowed brightly in his glass.

“He’s… quiet.” Kibum’s mouth quirked to one side as he looked down into his drink. “Doesn’t that make him hard to work with?”

Without hesitation, Wonsik shook his head and glanced back out across the floor, searching for the face he couldn’t help but love.

“We roomed together at the academy,” Wonsik replied as he picked at the label on his beer. “In my experience, all you have to do is wait. And it’s not like he’s silent during missions or puts me at risk.”

“I don’t know.” Kibum continued to investigate his drink without pause. “I haven’t heard more than two words out of him.”

“Now you’ve heard two more.” Taekwoon suddenly appeared at Kibum’s shoulder, his dark eyes filling with a palpable distaste.

Without a hint of hesitation for the awkward moment, Kibum turned in his chair to acknowledge their visitor with a raise of his foggy glass.

“I stand corrected: four words.” Wonsik couldn’t see Kibum’s smirk, but he could hear it in the lazy swing of his tone. “Seems you do have to wait after all, Ravi.”

With that, the other agent stood from his place at the bartop, bid adieu with a small nod of his head, and traipsed off to a different corner of the bar. Wonsik watched him go for a moment before directing his attention to the agent he’d come to love. Where Wonsik would have exchanged angry words with someone talking shit about him, Taekwoon needed little more than to glare and let his dark aura do the rest. The fact that he’d expended two whole words on a relative stranger meant he was pissed, but honestly Wonsik still had yet to learn between that facial expression and any others. Happy Taekwoon matched angry Taekwoon just as well as sad Taekwoon. 

“How much did you hear?” Wonsik asked when Taekwoon settled in the seat beside him with neatly folded hands.

At first, silence answered the inquiry, stony, cold and bleak. Though Wonsik didn’t regret anything he said, he and his partner had exchanged words more than once regarding Taekwoon’s dislike for gossip. In fact, the easiest way to kill a rumor was to send it Taekwoon’s way. Considering most rumors regarded Taekwoon and his ability to punch and kick his way through a room of armed criminals, Wonsik couldn’t exactly fault his coworkers’ reluctance to continue speaking on the matter.

“Ignore him,” Wonsik continued when his partner provided enough of an answer with his characteristic stoicism.

Maybe it was the alcohol running through his system or the furrow of Taekwoon’s brow, but Wonsik reached up an arm to curl around Taekwoon’s shoulders and tug him closer, without so much as a single worry regarding his obvious infatuation. He held up a finger to the bartender to order a drink for his partner as the latter struggled to break free from the grip. Sure, Taekwoon could easily break every bone in any attacker’s arm, but Wonsik liked to think they were closer than that. With one more teasing squeeze, though, he released his partner, who pulled away to immediately straighten his tousled hair.

“I’m sorry I’m lacking,” Taekwoon mumbled, though not as timidly as he might if Wonsik hadn’t just quite literally strongarmed him.

“You’re not,” Wonsik reached for him again, but Taekwoon evaded most of the motion, leaving the former’s hand to hover harmlessly at his back instead.

Still, Wonsik mentally breathed a sigh of relief when Taekwoon didn’t immediately pull away from that light touch.

“Seriously, who else has the patience to teach me disarms?” Wonsik left his hand pressed against the small of his partner’s back and the smooth silk of his suit vest.

That, at least, earned a small smirk from Taekwoon.

“Who says you learned anything?” His partner cajoled in return and Wonsik raised an eyebrow. Was Taekwoon flirting with him?

“Sounds like I need some private tutoring from UCTF’s close combat expert,” Wonsik said as he shifted a risky inch closer so his knee brushed against his partner’s. “How about tonight at my place?”

The thunk of a mug full of beer interrupted any answer from Taekwoon, who accepted it with another steely silence. Wonsik’s heart thumped fervently in his throat at the pause, cursing the liquid courage bubbling in his gut. In contrast, Taekwoon took a swig from his beer with an unerving calm. Wonsik tried not to stare, but Taekwoon’s stretched neck and the bob of his adam’s apple made for a terribly mesmerizing sight.

Just when Wonsik thought Taekwoon wouldn’t speak at all, his partner responded with a smirk that made Wonsik’s knees shake.

“Shouldn’t you treat me to dinner first?” The teasing words danced across Wonsik’s skin and he shuddered before nodding.

“Right, dinner,” Wonsik fumbled with his own reply, suddenly quite aware of how Taekwoon’s knee pressed more firmly against his own. “Bar peanuts don’t count?”

Taekwoon smacked Wonsik’s chest with the back of his hand, shaking his head and attempting to hide a smile with another sip of his beer. Still, Wonsik could hardly believe his luck.

“Alright, so dinner first,” he continued, tapping his finger’s against Taekwoon’s back as a reminder of their presence. “You’re not too good for takeout, are you?”

“Do you want to risk it?” Another cryptic answer set Wonsik’s nerves on fire.

Normally, he wouldn’t, but hell he wouldn’t have asked in the first place if this were anything resembling a ‘normal’ situation.

“I know the place with the best bubble tea and barbecue chicken,” Wonsik proposed. “ ‘sides, you’re not getting the real Kim Wonsik experience if we go somewhere stuffy.”

“The Kim Wonsik experience.” Taekwoon sounded entirely too doubtful of Wonsik’s overconfidence.

“C’mon, I’ll show you,” Wonsik’s hand slid up to Taekwoon’s shoulder, where he could feel firm muscles through the neatly-ironed fabric of his partner’s shirt.

Taekwoon raised his relatively full mug of beer and Wonsik reached out for it. His fingers briefly closed around Taekwoon’s before the latter withdrew them. Without an ounce of hesitation, Wonsik pressed the glass to his lips and chugged down the beer that was frankly too good to waste.

“Solves that problem,” Wonsik said after smacking his lips to get the last of the hoppy taste out of his mouth.

Of course, he regretted his solution when, half an hour later, he leaned heavily against Taekwoon, chin perched on his partner’s shoulder.

“Two bubble teas and an order of chicken,” Taekwoon ordered, ignoring Wonsik’s groans when he was jostled by his partner’s search for his wallet. “To go, please.”

“I can pay,” Wonsik said into the wool of Taekwoon’s coat, but was only answered by a gentle pat to the top of his braided mohawk.

The trip between the restaurant to Taekwoon’s apartment quickly became one large blur that ended in Wonsik staring down at his shoes, wondering how the mystical devices known as ‘shoelaces’ worked.

“Go sit down.” Taekwoon ordered softly and nudged Wonsik with his elbow.

With a drowsy nod that made the whole world spin, Wonsik did as told and padded over to the nearest chair. Soon enough, a plate clanked against the table beside him and the brown paper bag that contained their food set next to it. Before Wonsik could turn to face his dinner, a hand at his knee stopped him. Taekwoon knelt before him, making quick work of Wonsik’s shoelaces. Wonsik’s heart caught in his throat again at the sight, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Taekwoon rose to carry the shoes over to the door. When he returned, he slid Wonsik’s scarf from his neck and leaned in closer to undo the buttons of his jacket. Taekwoon’s face swam in front of his face, but Wonsik couldn’t ignore the perfect opportunity presented to him. He crossed the remaining distance between them and pressed his lips against Taekwoon’s, full and soft and everything he imagined. For a moment, Wonsik thought his partner was kissing him back, but then a firm hand pressed against his shoulder and broke their lips apart.

“Eat up,” Taekwoon didn’t sound angry, but Wonsik was hardly an expert on the subject and he tried to hide his disappointment by tearing into the first leg of chicken he could get his hands on.

The meal passed in silence, whether due to hunger or the awkward aftermath of the kiss Wonsik couldn’t be sure, and soon Taekwoon attempted to remove his coat once more. This time, Wonsik contained his urge to taste his partner. As Taekwoon folded Wonsik’s coat and laid it over his seat, the latter staggered upright.

“Don’t,” his partner was at his side before Wonsik could take a single step, steady hands bracketing his chest.

Instead of turning Wonsik toward the door, Taekwoon instead guided him to the bed in the small studio. When Wonsik’s knees brushed against the mattress, he let himself flop down on it, despite Taekwoon’s best efforts to keep him upright, bringing the latter down on top of him.

For the briefest of moments, they breathed the same air, noses brushing against each other, and Wonsik swore he saw a glimmer in Taekwoon’s dark gaze.

“Now we’re even,” Taekwoon barely whispered into the space between them before leaning up and away from Wonsik’s tingling lips.

Grumbling, Wonsik tugged the blankets up around him and buried his face in his hands. Of course. Of fucking course. Taekwoon had just been paying him back for that incident back in the academy, when Wonsik effectively saved his career. Taekwoon’s near brush with drug charges, however, differed entirely from the rules against fraternization between agents and Wonsik cared magnitudes less about the latter. His heart burned in his chest, but Wonsik ignored it and the weight that swallowed his limbs. Taekwoon must have suspected something as soon as he sat down, or else once Wonsik started getting touchy. Rather than leave him to the mercy of any of the other agents who spent their off nights at the bar, Taekwoon had ushered him back to the relative safety of his apartment. 

At least he didn’t have to worry about Taekwoon ravishing his body, Wonsik considered glumly, his dampened mood far outweighing his small consideration of distant consequences. No wonder Taekwoon hadn’t freaked out about the kiss; he must think it a product of the alcohol all on its own.

“Goodnight,” Taekwoon’s voice interrupted Wonsik’s pity party, but there was no shift of the bed with the added weight of another body.

Instead, he felt a kiss pressed to the shaved side of his head, soft lips against the coarse fuzz. Wonsik cracked his fingers to see Taekwoon setting a glass of water on the bedside table before drawing one of the chairs from the table to sit beside the bed. His heart screamed at him to pull the other onto the bed with him, to curl around him and never let go, but tonight had already been filled with enough risks.

Tomorrow, though, was a new day.


	2. Dec 23 - 1346 Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Write for at least 500 words about a loss, a madman, and a door."

Taekwoon had been gone for ten minutes already when Jaehwan noticed, but Wonshik had seen the older approach their manager in his usual, nearly silent manner. Of course, few conversations with the singer were audible to anyone but the intended participants, but his body language spoke so much more. For days now, Taekwoon’s shoulders had sagged further and further until tonight he seemed unable to do much standing up straight at all. Tonight, no one could coax him from the practice room and, with the mirror, no one could sneak up to check on him either, though Hakyeon certainly tried. Wonshik had attempted subtle observation from where he laid in the middle of the dance floor, barely lifted his eyes from the screen of his laptop, but Taekwoon still noticed and answered with a quiet glance that commanded silence of its own. Then the door closed behind him and all returned to normal until Jaehwan wanted to interview Taekwoon for VIXX TV.

When Jaehwan called out again, Hakyeon supplied that Taekwoon looked tired that night. A moment later, their manager stepped back in and called for practice to end for the night. As soon as they pulled open the door of the van, Jaehwan nearly bounced into the seat beside the drowsy Taekwoon who did not so much as flinch at the sudden burst of sound from his chattering bandmates. Wonshik, though, winced in sympathy as he slid into the backseat behind him. The singer’s shoulders were tense and tight up around his ears, one arm braced between him and the window; everything about his posture screamed pain, a dialect of Taekwoon’s Wonshik had learned well after a certain leg injury. Hakyeon looked over at his fellow singer, eyebrows knitted, but Wonshik shook his head in a silent plea to let Taekwoon rest. Luckily, Hakyeon took to the mission easily and distracted the others with a contagious excitement about their upcoming schedules. 

Everyone piled back out of the van just as quickly when they arrived at their dorm, leaving Taekwoon and their manager to bring up the rear. Not wanting to bring unnecessary attention to the already exhausted singer, Wonshik scurried along with the others and waited until the right moment presented itself. When the two entered the dorm a handful of minutes after the rest of the group, Wonshik watched the brief exchange of words before Taekwoon nodded and retired to their sleeping room without so much as a breath spared for their rabble currently engaged in a hand-slapping game in the living room.

“Ah, I’m hungry,” Wonshik groaned after he lost another round to Hyuk, who rolled onto the floor with laughter at the rapper’s poor attempts.

“You don’t want to play anymore.” Jaehwan jumped in, who, besides Hakyeon, had the best record at the game so far.

“One more round to pick who goes to the supermarket,” Hakyeon suggested. Wonshik glanced up at him. Normally, Taekwoon would cook for all of them, but that certainly would not be the case tonight, considering the door Taekwoon disappeared through had yet to open.

While their leader annoyed everyone in the group at some point, he did know his bandmates very well, and Wonshik felt a surge of relief.

“Hongbinnie and Hyukkie, me and Wonshik” Hakyeon paired them off easily. “Jaehwan and Manager-nim.”

Their manager shook his head and Hakyeon laughed. “Jaehwan loses!”

Despite the high-pitched whines of feigned outrage, the pairs settled into position without disturbance from Jaehwan. Across from Wonsik, Hakyeon narrowed his eyes before glancing briefly toward the room Taekwoon had disappeared into. With such a brief window of opportunity, Wonsik took every last bit of advantage and slapped his hyung’s hands before the other realized they had even started. As soon as Wonsik’s fingers slapped Hakyeon’s however, the other shouted

“You cheated!” Hakyeon pointed at Wonsik, sitting up on his knees as if to further demonstrate his accusation.

Wonsik shook his head and raised his hands with as innocent a grin as he could manage and Jaehwan looped an arm around Hakyeon.

“You don’t want to come with me, hyung?” Jaehwan whined in the older’s ear and Hakyeon tried to shrug him off but to no success.

“Wonsik cheated,” Hakyeon protested again, but was interrupted by Hongbin’s dramatic cry of anguish and Hyuk’s cheer.

“I call the first shower,” the maknae declared as he bolted upright to his feet.

Hongbin rolled to and fro on the floor before Hakyeon feigned a kick at his side. Giggling the whole way, Hongbin was pulled upright by the combined strength of his two older hyungs. When the front door clicked shut after them, only silence remained and Wonsik breathed out a sigh of relief. All that noise had earned him the beginning of a headache of his own, drawing painful sparks from behind his eyes. Food didn’t sound like such a good idea anymore.

Pressing a hand to his temple, Wonsik padded over to the closed door separating him from Taekwoon and gently eased it open only far enough to squeeze through. The crack of light spilled across the empty futons of his fellow bandmates, but not the prone form of Taekwoon buried underneath his covers. 

“Close it,” a muffled whisper echoed in the quiet and Wonsik nearly jumped out of his skin.

He slammed the door behind him in his fright and the tightly-curled body before him flinched.

“Sorry,” Wonsik apologized immediately, his voice dropping to match Taekwoon’s, but it still seemed too loud in the space. “How’re you feeling?”

Taekwoon only groaned and shook his head in response.

“That bad, huh,” Wonsik replied. “Anything I can do?”

Silence.

Well, Wonsik could do that much at the least and let his hyung rest. Maybe he could talk Hyuk out of that first shower, use his age to sway the maknae to intercept the other three when they returned. As Wonsik turned to retreat, though, a lock clicked, much higher in pitch than the manager’s. The subsequent drumming of water against ceramic further confirmed Hyuk’s genuine desire for a shower. Wonsik continued to stand in the darkness of their bedroom, his options of action quickly disappearing the longer he stood still.

“Still too bright,” Taekwoon whispered and Wonsik nearly blurted out another question.

He knelt down beside his hyung on the futon, his mind speeding through ideas. Blindfold? Eye mask? Would those put pressure on Taekwoon’s head? What about an ice pack or a warm cloth? Which was supposed to help with headaches? Maybe he should just get some aspirin or something. Strong fingers about his wrist interrupted the chain of questions and Wonsik glanced down to meet dark eyes squinting up at him. Under the vocalist’s cheek bones, a strip of light lingered and Wonsik flicked his gaze to the door. He had completely forgotten about how it didn’t meet the sill. 

Without thinking, he crawled onto the futon beside Taekwoon and settled against the cushion before gingerly stretching an arm toward the other. Instead of shying away from the touch, Taekwoon tucked his head against Wonsik’s shoulder. Rolling up onto his side, Wonsik placed himself between the door and his ailing hyung. Taekwoon breathed a soft breath of relief, tickling Wonsik’s collar, but the latter swallowed down the urge to chuckle. 

“Better?” Wonsik could barely hear himself, but Taekwoon answered with a small nod regardless.

At first, Taekwoon’s soft breaths rattled against his skin, butterfly wings in the night, but by the time the steady drumming of the shower stopped, Wonsik noticed they had slowed. With a small smile, he curled a little tighter around the older and closed his eyes. He nearly didn’t notice the quiet knock at the door some time later. Blinking drowsily, he glanced up to see Hakyeon smiling from the sliver of light. Wonsik nodded gingerly, doing his best to not disturb the sleeping Takewoon. With an answering bow of his head, Hakyeon disappeared back through the door, leaving Wonsik to settle once more.

Not even the occasional clang of pots and pans woke him up this time.


	3. Dec 24 - 1491 Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Write for at least 400 words about a search, a scarf, and a pair of eyeglasses." college!au

A blindfolded Lindy Hop sounded like a terrible idea to Taekwoon, but Hakyeon had insisted in that annoying way. Of course, by ‘insisted,’ Taekwoon meant literally strong-arming him out of their shared apartment and down the snow-covered street to the university’s union. A few dollars and a wrist band later, he and Hakyeon plunged into the oldest and largest hall on campus. The flyers and chalkings all over the university must have filled the space once already, though the event started only an hour ago. Yet, Hakyeon had yet to be deterred, pulling Taekwoon along behind him into the crowd. Standing up on his toes, Taekwoon caught glimpses of the couple currently on the dance floor, each partner blinded by a black scarf that weaved and bobbed with each turn and kick. He couldn’t look long, as Hakyeon kept his unrelenting pace.

When the music changed, a man standing in front of the band and holding his phone read off two numbers, “91, 2.”

Taekwoon blinked at Hakyeon, but his friend snagged his wrist to look at the bit of paper wrapped around it.

“It’s you!” Hakyeon shrieked and shoved him toward the open space on the dance floor.

Shaking his head, Taekwoon tried to dig in his heels but soon his friend had recruited those around him and in a moment, he found himself standing at one end of the long oval of people. He stole a quick glance at his wristband and sure enough, the number 91 was neatly scrawled in black ink. A shout or two sounded from the other side of the hall and soon enough, another entered the floor, looking out from square-framed spectacles. Before either could say so much as a hello, a scarf draped across Taekwoon’s vision and he shut his eyes instinctively. Soft silk pressed against his eyelids and pulled at his temples as someone tied it in a knot behind his head.

“Wait,” Taekwoon tried to say, but a firm push at his shoulders sent him out into the vast emptiness before his feet.

He stumbled once, twice, and then a strong arm circled about his back, scooping him back to his feet. Fingers trailed down the sleeve of his shirt and fumbled with Taekwoon’s for a moment before clasping more firmly around them. The hand at his back pressed just under Taekwoon’s ribs and he moved without realizing. His partner swayed as he shifted his weight from foot to foot and Taekwoon didn’t have to search long for the other man’s lead. 3-and-4-and he was moving.

They were moving.

He found it strange that he could almost see his partner, each bob and shift of weight singing along to Taekwoon’s tight footwork. One-two-three-and-four, and his partner loosened his grip on his fingers. Taekwoon twisted on the balls of his feet before he released his partner’s hand altogether and swiveled out to the side. He remembered seeing graceful dancers in his required physical education class, long arms extended as they fanned out across the floor. The warm touch at his back slid down his arm to his fingertips and Taekwoon did his best to simply breathe as his toes painted the floor. Three-and-four. As he straightened his arm out behind him like he had seen, he felt suddenly stretched and exposed and laid bare before the crowd he knew still stood around them, beyond the folds of the scarf. His feet stuttered at the sudden pressure, at the weight that dropped from his chest to his toes.

That strong arm tugged on his fingers and Taekwoon found himself back against the warmth of his partner’s chest before the fan finished. For a moment, when their hands folded back together, his heart calmed and a peace settled across him. In the next, the weight was lifted from his shoulders as his partner restarted with a quiet hum.

“Se-ven-eight.” A deep voice fluttered across his ear and Taekwoon shifted his weight to follow the other’s lead.

The arm at his back tugged him ever closer and pressed their hips together. Swallowing, Taekwoon tried to ignore how denim rubbed against his dress pants as they weaved across the floor. Another gentle press to his side and Taekwoon swung one leg out, the toe of his shoe carving along the hardwood floor. With a gentle push, the hand at his back switched grips, sending Taekwoon in a spin. Swallowing, he did what he could to stay close to his partner and the other did not disappoint as both his hands were caught up in firm ones that guided him through the motions of a kick before it happened. When the shift of weight did come, Taekwoon was ready and followed the pattern his partner had just drawn with his own hands. 

A cheer erupted from around them, a sure sign they had synced up well, and warmth flooded Taekwoon’s chest, but he did not have long to rejoice as the grip on his hand slid to the side. A switch. He had used the same sign when he led back in class. Ducking down, he felt the light wind of a kick over his head. Taekwoon pushed his legs out to lay flat against the floor and not a moment too soon as his partner pulled him up by his wrists and he could only guess how ridiculous it must look to have a man tugging another through the archway of his legs. His momentum swung upward and as soon as the balls of his feet touched down on the floor, another rousing cheer filled the air around him. The hands gripping his shook back and forth, squeezing his thinner ones more warmly than a stranger should.

Before they could continue moving, though, a voice echoed overhead, “Alright, everyone give a hand for 91 and 2.”

The hands holding Taekwoon’s didn’t let go immediately but a new pair weaved into his hair to undo the knot of the scarf. As soon as the fabric fell away, Taekwoon opened his eyes, blinking in the suddenly bright light of the hall. His gaze first identified dark eyes outlined in kohl, free of glasses, and then wickedly blonde hair tousled from the scarf.

“Come on, Wonsik, make some room,” a new voice bubbled from somewhere beside the blonde in front of him and then the hands holding his disappeared.

In the same moment, Taekwoon was tugged toward the blur of figures, away from the open dance floor. Taekwoon turned to try and find the blonde, but no amount of blinking could adjust his eyes fast enough. The crowd swallowed him and amidst a storm of compliments and patting hands, Taekwoon wished he could have that strong pressure at his back again to guide him in his shaky footsteps.

“I never knew you were that good!” Hakyeon spoke as Taekwoon’s vision cleared. “Where did you learn all that?”

“Class,” Taekwoon murmured as he swiveled in place to search the bobbing heads for a blonde wearing thick-framed glasses but trying to move anywhere except toward the outer edges of the circle proved unfruitful.

So he instead allowed Hakyeon lead him over to the table of refreshments. He didn’t realize how much he had sweat until the winter chill breathed across his skin. A shudder danced up his spine, leaving delightful tingles flooding through his body. 

Oh.

A glass of water later and Taekwoon wanted to return to his search, to find his firm-handed partner, but even as the crowd thinned out an hour later, he had no luck, though Hakyeon had begun yawning.

“We can go,” Taekwoon suggested, a quiet guilt that Hakyeon’s number had not been called yet niggling in his chest.

“I’m not that tired,” his roommate replied before another yawn stretched his mouth.

“You had rehearsal this morning,” Taekwoon continued and Hakyeon sighed.

“I really wanted to try it,” the other groaned, but began his trudging journey to the doors.

Without near the number of bodies packed into the hall as prior, they managed to cross to the exit quite easily. Taekwoon spotted a flyer just before they crossed the threshold and he stepped back a step to grab it.

Right into someone. A hand closed about his elbow to brace him and Taekwoon recognized the grip immediately. He turned around and found himself face-to-face with 2.

“Oh look, they do this every month!” Hakyeon exclaimed as he plucked the flyer from the wall, but Taekwoon was a little too occupied with the blonde smiling at him.

“Kim Wonsik,” his partner held out his hand in the little space that separated them. “You dance really well.”

“I…” Taekwoon shook his head, but answered the gesture firmly.

Those firm hands closed around his for little more than an instant, but Taekwoon wished he could monopolize them for so much longer.

“Taekwoonie, you’ll come back with me, right?” Hakyeon chirped from behind him.

Taekwoon couldn’t bring himself to say no.


	4. Dec 26 - 981 Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Write for at least 2 minutes about a treasured heirloom, and a foyer." depressing space au

He turned the medal over and over in his hand and his thumb traced along the engraved image again and again like a worry stone. Though the fabric and pin had long ago frayed into threads, the small token usually remained at his breast, beside every other speck of decoration. Despite the occasional jeer he received, he had yet to remove it from its place of honor. He raised his head to gaze upon the ruins of his childhood home. Soot stained walls that once hung family portraits and ash dusted the table that used to welcome all. A proud, warm structure had been reduced to a rotting skeleton, its guts left to scavengers who pillaged without mercy or respect for the dead.

Through the archway, shadows danced high on the walls and chased away his smile. He hated his siblings’ teasing when younger, especially after being tagged it for the fifth time in as many minutes. They had always been faster and stronger than him, brighter and smarter, but now they laid unburied in the same room they shared birthday gifts and watched cartoons. 

He had to look away at long last, but the floor held no more comfort for him. Beneath his shoe, he spotted a squared edge, darkened by fire but whole. Without care for his cleaned and ironed uniform, he knelt down and brushed dust from the thin sheet. He could make out the neat handwriting of his father, Taekwoon’s first tour: May 24, 2593. His heart nearly stopped in his chest, but he turned over the paper nonetheless. Under his fingers, the images of his family smiling up at him, his father holding a newer, unscathed replica of the medal curled in Taekwoon’s fingers to the chest of a newer, unscathed Taekwoon.

Back then, they had all believed the war would last no longer than a year. Back then, he had been so doe-eyed, so loyal to the cause of justice and freedom and the propaganda shoved down his throat. Just a kid. 

And now, five years later, they had all learned a few lessons about war.

A touch at his shoulder made Taekwoon jump nearly out of his skin and, on instinct, he swiveled to face his attacker. Instead of an assailant, Wonsik stood there, rifle slung over his shoulder and ruddy scars marring one side of his face. Chogun IV. Taekwoon would never forget that fight, how Wonsik’s blood stuck to his hands as he dragged the latter across scorched earth. He could still smell that horrible copper in his nose and it hung around him like some terrible perfume. For an engineer who was never supposed to see battle, he had seen more corpses and heard enough death rattles to qualify for veteran status, but any stage he would walk across was lightyears away. Here, only the dead and dying remained in this forsaken sector.

Wonsik opened his mouth to speak but Taekwoon shook his head. He didn’t want apologies, he didn’t want sympathy, he didn’t want someone telling him it would be alright. He wasn’t the first of the crew to lose family and certainly wouldn’t be the last, but he knew by now how worthless words had become. False sentimentality did nothing to heal the wounds open and bleeding in their souls, could not bring down the gunner who set the crosshairs on their loved ones or destroy the enemy for good. No, all words could do was inspire the gravest of hopes that led to a reckless abandon that had already taken the lives of his fellow crew. Of the original ten of the academy’s finest engineers, only himself and had Hyuk survived, and the latter was still wet behind the ears. Still, loss had robbed the boy of his youth within a month of his assignment to the Jelpi, unofficially-nicknamed Gravewalker. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Taekwoon saw Wonsik approach and reach out a hand, but refused to look at him. Wonsik’s mouth opened and shut once, twice, three times before it remained closed. His eyebrows knit and the hand at Taekwoon’s shoulder squeezed. A breeze blew the dust around their feet and Taekwoon swore some got in his eyes, for they started to burn and water. He clenched his jaw to swallow down the scream that threatened to bubble out of him at any moment as his chest swelled with searing heat.

Arms curled about his waist and pulled him against a firm chest that still reeked of blood. White-hot pain sliced up his throat and Taekwoon struggled to swallow it down again; they weren’t far from the nearest enemy outpost and sound carried far too easily across the decimated remains of his home town. So, instead, he buried his face in that deathly perfume and breathed it in as more warmth trailed down over his cheeks and dripped from his chin. Rather than push him away, Wonsik held him tighter, pressed his face into Taekwoon’s hair. 

Far too soon, a quiet beeping interrupted them and Wonsik freed one hand to reach down for the radio on his lapel.

“Sensors indicate an approaching fleet, lieutenant,” the distorted voice of Captain Hakyeon replaced the heavy silence around them.

Wonsik sighed so thickly, it ruffled Taekwoon’s hair.

“Copy that, we’ll double-time it back,” Wonsik answered, though he made no motion to release Taekwoon.

“Good,” the captain replied. “And tell Taekwoon I’m sorry.”

“You can tell him yourself.” Wonsik slowly pulled back from him, but kept one hand on his shoulder as if attempting to anchor him. “Over and out.”

Insolence helped nothing, but Taekwoon couldn’t help but like it in Wonsik.

“You heard the captain.” Wonsik offered a crooked smile before letting the hand on Taekwoon’s shoulder drop. 

Taekwoon nodded and looked back to the photo clenched tight in his hand. The trip hadn’t been for nothing.


	5. Feb 29 - 2078 Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thief!au, breathplay tw

Taekwoon first noticed something wrong when his key didn’t struggle against the lock. Frowning, he tugged open the parchment drawer at his desk with ease and the comforting scrape of chain against wood didn’t greet him, only the gentle rumble of ink bottles rolling over. He glanced up and around before lifting the false bottom. His heart dropped out of him as he reached in further, nails scrabbling against the rough grain to find nothing. Before he could investigate further, the latch at his door clicked and Taekwoon dropped the false bottom. He wrenched out a piece of parchment and slammed the drawer shut without grace, his neck throbbing with every beat of his heart.

“Young Master, you should be asleep,” the master steward greeted, illuminated by the warm glow of an oil lamp. “If your father knew-”

“My father asked me to write a letter for him,” Taekwoon supplied a beat faster than he wanted. “To the other sons of nobility.”

His heart threatened to choke him as he watched the steward’s brow furrow deeper.

Who would believe such a stupid excuse? he berated himself as he refused to surrender eye contact with the steward. He could glare down anyone in the house but her.

“I was unaware, young master.” The steward replied, but the furrow remained as she disappeared back through the door to continue the patrol.

Taekwoon nodded as best he could and only once he heard the footsteps fade away into the night did he move again. With shaking fingers, he tugged open the drawer once more and lifted the false bottom to see a ring of dust where his prize should be. Who could have gotten in his desk without the key? Had he left it unlocked when he left to accompany his father for business matters? No, ever since he stole the amulet, he double-checked every morning before departing. However, discrediting that option left an unsavory taste in his mouth. Someone took it from him, bare days after he acquired it himself. Such a quick turnaround meant not only a skillful hand, but one that knew the sigil.

His heart leapt as he spun in his chair to look out at the clock tower. What if…?

Without another thought, Taekwoon crossed the room and pulled on his hooded coat. As he buckled the leather straps about his middle, he looked back out at the clock tower, his heart pounding in his ears louder than ever. Swallowing, he returned to the window, undid the latch, and descended along the stone to the slatted roof of the kitchen. The route seemed strangely familiar, as if he had made it many times and the clock tower loomed ahead like a lighthouse to guide wandering across the rooftops. Soon, he stood in the shadow of the colossus and he entered through the oaken door at the base, no hesitation slowing his feet. Taekwoon closed the door behind him and looked up at the curve of the stairs until it dissolved into the darkness of the tower’s underbelly. One stair became two as he ascended and though his curiosity threatened to steer him from the path, he kept his focus set on the unknown that lingered in the gloom beyond.

Though his legs burned, he climbed higher, three or four steps in each leap until his lungs threatened to give out, and higher still. The cobblestone foundation disappeared into the murk below and as Taekwoon neared the top, the moonlight stretched the numerals of the clock face down across the stairs. Then, finally, he breached the final landing and the coop spread before him like a feast on which to sate his appetite for all things involving the clock tower.

Elaborate picture frames leaned against one wall, beside a simple water basin edged in rust. The frayed curtains hung across the windows like corpses while their shadows danced across a gold-threaded rug. Taekwoon drank all of it in, mapping the contrasts like he would a new lock. Sacks of rice lingered beside wagon wheels and colorful candles illuminated a torn poster spelling ‘WANTED’ at the top in faded ink. He climbed up the last few steps to the first level of the hovel to trace the corner of one of the picture frames. Under a inches of dust, Taekwoon could see wooden leaves, etched with care, emerging and he swiped away more of the dust in his careless fascination. Boar’s heads and lions and all the symbols of the great noble houses materialized right before his eyes.

As he reached for the next frame, though, a buzzing interrupted him, like a bee or---

Taekwoon turned to see one of the pulleys winding away, tugging rope up and up and--- someone was here. The Ghost, the clocktower ghost, had returned. For a moment he froze, heart caught in his throat once more, but then he forced himself into action and his legs carried him across to the low-hanging loft that housed a bed. Under the frame would be too obvious, the Ghost would find him for sure. He looked up at the crossbeams and braced himself a heartbeat before he heard the buzzing stop.

His ears strained to hear a whisper of soft shoes on wood, or a creak of oak aged by humidity and time, but nothing came. Perhaps he had panicked over nothing. Perhaps he had jumped like an ameteur, like a mouse before a cat.

“How long do you intend to keep hiding?” a baritone asked from somewhere not far away.

Taekwoon refused to give himself up so easy, no matter who stood bare meters away. Instead, he bit his lip and the extra adrenaline that flooded his system kept his elbows and knees locked where he braced himself against the crossbeams.

“I know you’re here.” Now Taekwoon could make out the low hiss of fabric coming his way and he wished his hands didn’t sweat so much.

Shadows beneath him bent and swayed before he felt the kiss of cold steel against the nape of his neck. His arms and legs withdrew without his permission and the dropped to the wood below like a rock. Taekwoon grunted and crawled up to his knees to find a silhouetted figure standing on the level above, the stolen amulet winking as the other curled the chain about his fingers.

“Give them back.” Taekwoon’s words stumbled over each other in his haste to get them out.

The figure chuckled, a hearty sound that vibrated through Taekwoon.

“Rule one of thieving,” the figure stood and his shadow swallowed Taekwoon. “don’t hold onto the goods. If one person wants it, it’s a sure bet someone else does too.”

Taekwoon straightened like a board, his fear quickly evolving into something resembling anger.

“Surely the first rule is ‘don’t get caught,” he replied, suspecting a lecture might linger just upstream.

“You’re doing so well with that one.” The other sniped from above.

Heat rose in Taekwoon’s cheeks and spilled out across his ears. Rather than admit such a thing, he argued instead, “I stole them first!”

“You left your seal, little lion. Second rule: what’s yours is soon mine.”

Taekwoon nearly stomped his feet in frustration but he spotted a cache laid out on a table not two meters away. Without a care, he plucked a ring faced with turquoise from the makeshift display.

“Then this is mine n---”

Before Taekwoon could turn around to taunt the stranger, the latter had pinned his arm behind him and dropped him down against the mattress of the bed. In the next moment, the ring disappeared from his fingers and a weight restrained him against the soft sheets.

“If you touch that again, I’ll throw you out that window,” that heavy voice said as Taekwoon turned his head to ease the pain that spiked along his neck.

His heart hammered in his chest so loud his assailant had to hear it.

“You must really be a fan,” the other noted with a purr that teased across Taekwoon’s ear. “Have you dreamed of this?”

Taekwoon’s heart stopped for a moment as the confirmation sparked every nerve in his body. The Ghost. He was right. The Clocktower Ghost had come to the estate all those years ago, snuck past every guard and unsteady chassis to his room on the same night Taekwoon thought he finally picked the lock on the kitchen door.

For endless nights of his youth, Taekwoon had been haunted by the dark eyes that watched him now, smoldering coals curtained in fabric like a shrine. He thought sketching might purge the infatuation, but instead only multiplied with every drawing. The innocent flame of curiosity became an uncontrollable blaze when he imagined those eyes at his window, framed by the diamonds of the night sky. Or when he laid in bed and thought of the voice that might linger behind that mask, when he spent himself time and time again into a dirty tunic as he bit the back of his hand. And when he wondered if the Ghost watched him, if he would like what he saw, if he would come in through the arched glass and tease him like a lock, that was when Taekwoon left for the House of Blossoms. From his usual room, he could see the haunting silhouette of the clock tower. Despite his preference for being laid bare and open, fucked so hard he could hardly stand the next day, he always made sure to note that the clock tower must be in view (and they could hardly refuse the son of the noble elite or his money).

Taekwoon clamped his mouth shut, not trusting himself to respond while the object of his obsession pressed him down against a mattress.

The Ghost seemed more than happy to fill his mouth with words he couldn’t say, “Have you dreamed of me fucking you, pounding you all night until you sing along with the morning chime?”

Before he could stop himself, a whimper echoed in the cavern of his mouth and his body screamed for friction of some kind, but the Ghost remained unmoving above him.

“I bet you’re already slick at the tip.” The Ghost chuckled and shudder slithered through Taekwoon’s body unbidden.

And then the Ghost’s weight disappeared, lifted from him without pomp or circumstance.

“Go home,” the voice hissed.

Taekwoon rolled onto his side, wincing when the fabric of his trousers dragged across his erection. He climbed up to his feet, now standing before the Ghost, the elusive thief he followed into the dark. He had to see it, had to see the Ghost’s face. Before he realized, his hand reached out for the leather, only to be stopped by a manacle of bone and skin. In an instant, Taekwoon’s momentum shifted to find his back pressed against the Ghost, the other’s arm circling his throat. Tighter, the Ghost pulled him in, stealing his breath. Taekwoon’s instincts kicked in and his fingers dug into the forearm thick with muscle, but to no avail. The Ghost tugged tighter and Taekwoon found himself leaning back against his captor. Hot breath surged against his ear and dripped down his neck like a poison he so readily drank in. Between them, only a few layers of fabric separated sticky, heated skin, and Taekwoon knew it.

Then the moment ended, cool air flooding his lungs and sweeping across his body.

“Go home,” the Ghost said, adjusting the ragged lapels of his coat.

Taekwoon adjusted his trousers as discreetly as he could, a little tug to ease the blazing heat eating away at his self-control. When he glanced up at the Ghost, he saw pupils blown wide, oozing with the same dark wildfire churning in Taekwoon’s gut.

“And if I don’t?” Taekwoon tested, his mind filling with all kinds of punishments the Ghost could unleash.

“This isn’t a game,” the Ghost replied, now turning his back to look out at the cold and distant stars. “Go home, Master Jung.”

One moment, Taekwoon was stepping forward, his center of gravity changing from one foot to the other, and the next the dawn was breaking across his face. His throat burned as he blinked groggily in the bright sun. He sat up in an instant to find himself back in his room as if nothing happened, everything in its place. Except for the window latch swinging to and fro in a nonexistent morning breeze.


	6. Mar 13 - 674 Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “i got up at 2 am to get some snacks at the convenience store down the street and opened my door to find you trying to sleep on the floor of the hallway because your roommate has his fiancée over so i guess i’ll lend you my couch for the night AU” college!au

Just a ten minute break, Wonsik had told himself fifteen minutes ago. Just ten minutes for a breath of fresh air and maybe some munchies. After all science had proven that a brain full of glucose would focus better on differential equations. He hadn’t counted on talking to the cashier at the 24/7 about the rumors regarding the art school’s stolen fish statue or dropping his bag of snacks on the walk back up the hill to his dorm.

Twenty minutes after he pushed himself back from his desk, Wonsik shoved his key into the lock for his floor and tugged it open. As he leaned against the crossbar to avoid crushing any of his goodies, he noticed a prone figure in the hallway dressed in a dark coat and sweatpants. That room was 323 if he remembered correctly, home to Hakyeon and his silent roommate. Neither seemed the type to get so shiftfaced they couldn’t find their keys, but a week earlier he also hadn’t believed that the infamous fish statue could be moved.

Humming to himself, Wonsik unlocked his room at the end of the hall and set his bag just inside the door. He stood in the threshold watching the slow rise and fall of the other’s back. Wait, was this guy asleep, in the hallway of all places? No one knew what had been spilled on those carpets in the ten billion years since the building opened. Wonsik’s gaze rose to the door a few feet away from the figure and he spotted the bright red ribbon curled around the knob. Ah, so a special someone was in there, maybe for the quiet one. After all, he seemed mysterious enough to have line of girls around the block waiting to throw themselves at him.

And yet, one roommate slept on the floor in the hallway. If he really played up the tall, dark, and silent type for chicks, he wouldn’t be there.

Hakyeon, then, and Wonsik knew how to wake him.

After retrieving a bottle of banana milk from his grocery bag, Wonsik approached the sleeping Hakyeon. Poor guy must have been really tired to curl up so tight in his coat like that; Wonsik couldn’t even see his face.

“Hakyeon, wake up.” Wonsik pressed the cold plastic against the only bit of skin peeking from under knitted gloves.

One moment, Wonsik squatted beside a sleeping Hakyeon and the next, he’d been nearly hit in the face with the bottle of banana milk. Only a last second jerk of his head saved him as he fell back on his ass and found himself face to face with… not Hakyeon. Soft cheeks and full lips greeted Wonsik before the sharp glare and furrowed brow. Tangled dark hair stuck up at odd angles from under the hood and the indent of a zipper glowed bright red at the other’s jaw.

“Woah, sorry, you’re not Hakyeon.” Wonsik held his hands up in defense.

For a moment, the other kept his stare before sighing and shaking his head. Instead of saying anything, he curled in on himself again and made to lay back down. That is, if Wonsik hadn’t reached out to grab his shoulders. Then the other turned right around for a repeat performance of the glare.

Wonsik couldn’t help but smile this time; the combination of the mussed hair, fluffy coat, and sharp gaze was so reminiscent of a cat.

“I’ve got a futon in my room if you need a place to sleep.” Wonsik spared one hand to gesture at his open door. “And I just got some snacks.”

Perhaps Wonsik imagined it, but the other seemed to perk up at the mention of food. Definitely a cat.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Wonsik asked as he helped his new friend up off the floor.

“Taekwoon,” the other answered as he shouldered his backpack. “Jung Taekwoon.”

“Nice to meet you.” Wonsik put a guiding hand to Taekwoon’s shoulder to steer him toward his room. “Do you like prawn crackers?”


End file.
